(I've removed the video link, as I said I would, and rewritten some of the copy below to reflect the dialogue that was previously in the audio. You - and he - are all back in the realm of the imagination now.)
It was a good day. When we brought the cake in, he sighed and said, "I'm afraid I might make the hundred!" He cut it himself, ate two pieces (when he wasn't busy shelling the green almonds) and after a while reached for the knife again.
"Do you want another piece?" we asked.
"I seem to like it!" he said, helping himself. There were a few presents, many cards, and two shiny mylar balloons, which he marveled at, remarking, "These are the first balloons I've ever been given!" - probably true, he hasn't ever seemed like the balloon type but today, he liked them.
His face had lit up when we gave him the package of green almonds and he figured out what they were. Immediately he set to work trying to crack them - with his few remaining teeth. I took a hammer out onto the balcony and split some for him on the concrete floor. When he got the first nutmeat into his mouth, he smiled and nodded."They don't taste quite the same as they did," he said.
"Well, they've probably been traveling for a while." He nodded, that was true, but he kept eating them anyway.
"Where are they from?" the caregiver asked. "Are they really from Syria?"
My father-in-law looked in her direction and nodded, his mouth full.
"They're from the Middle Eastern market, but I don't know from where. Maybe even California; a friend of mine there says she has a big crop on her trees."
"They're from Bludan," J. said, and his father raised his eyebrows approvingly.
The nuts looked good though - soft and white, as if you took a blanched almond and soaked it in water. "What do you call them in Arabic?" I asked.
M. looked up and said, "Loz. L-O-Z." He split another nuts form its inner shell with a practiced thumb. "The almond-seller used to walk along the streets, calling out "Loz!" - he sold the almonds whole, soaked in water, and we'd go down and buy them -- delicious. These don't taste quite like that."
He had noticed that we were taking pictures. When we said goodbye, he thanked us and said gently, "I probably won't be with you next year, but I hope you will have many happy memories thanks to all the beautiful pictures J. has been taking. He must have hundreds!"
"Thousands, is more like it. I think he has more of you than of any other person."
"Really??" he said, looking rather pleased.